


Sunshine, Lollipops, and Thai Food

by slightlyworriedhuman



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Five-centric, Klaus is a good brother, Murder, Slightly unreliable narrator, The Commission, Violence, bit graphic my apologies, prompted on tumblr for this, the rest of the family is only lightly there in the first chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-15 18:46:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18078920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlyworriedhuman/pseuds/slightlyworriedhuman
Summary: See, he had been planning on having a nice night out with his siblings. They were going to get some nice food, rent a movie or two, and go home to relax with some alcohol and dessert that he and Klaus had helped Vanya make. Everything was planned out perfectly.Everything, apparently, except for the group of men armed with various weaponry that Five spied outside of the window as they were finishing off their Thai food, appearing in a flash.Five protects his family. Sadly, his family finds out about it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SeeNormal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeeNormal/gifts).



> This is from a prompt on tumblr by the lovely @notexactreflection: "Can we get a fic where five kills someone/group of people (maybe the people who are hunting him down for the commission) in front of his siblings… and we got to see their reaction." I'll go more into their reactions in the next chapter!

Five wasn't stupid. He knew that no matter how much his siblings saw when they were trying to stop the apocalypse, they never quite believed him. Not that they didn't trust him in that they needed to save the world; not that they didn't trust that he had lived a long, terrible life. But he knew, deep down, that no matter what he said, they would never quite believe him when he talked about his past with the Temps Commission. He didn't blame them, to be completely honest; it was hard to take stories of bloody murder seriously when they came from the mouth of a thirteen year old face, smooth and untouched by the lines of worry that he knew from experience would begin to develop in less than a few years. 

If he was to be honest with himself, he was okay with that. Yes, they as a group had faced more horrors than anyone would ever guess; they had all experienced their fair share of misery over the years. But when it came to killing innocents, to the taking of someone else's life who had had no choice in the matter… The only others with a body count of the innocent were Klaus and Vanya. Even then, from what Klaus had told him in panic curled ramblings, he had only killed a handful of civilians in a horrible accident of his squadron; Vanya couldn't even remember the nannies she had killed, and they had successfully stopped her from killing the earth. Technically, in this timeline, her body count was still only three or four. Five refused to count Harold Jenkins as ‘innocent.’

Ben, well, his only innocent victim had been himself. Not exactly comparable. 

Still, though, Five had come to terms with the fact that he would be fine with his family thinking his kill count was countable on a few hands. And besides, now that they were here, with the Handler dead--he had received a note from Hazel that he had killed the atrocious woman and was now living with the love of his life in the near future, and visiting their doughnut shop was on his list of things to do once it was 2026--he had no reason to think anyone would be coming to kill him. Right?

Evidently, that wasn't the correct answer here. See, he had been planning on having a nice night out with his siblings. They were going to get some nice food, rent a movie or two, and go home to relax with some alcohol and dessert that he and Klaus had helped Vanya make. Everything was planned out perfectly. 

Everything, apparently, except for the group of men armed with various weaponry that Five spied outside of the window as they were finishing off their Thai food, appearing in a flash.

He immediately stiffened as the flash of blue appeared at the corner of the building, accompanied by the sudden presence of a group of men. None of his siblings seemed to see the flash, but they looked at him as he shot up, spoon clattering into the bowl. Thank goodness the restaurant was, for the most part, empty; the other table a with people had long since decided to ignore the table of six who had insisted on setting out seven chairs. 

“Five? You okay?” Vanya asked, covering her mouth as she hastily swallowed her noodles. Rage seemed to prickle in his veins like ice as he realized his situation; he had to go deal with this shit, and he didn't want his siblings to interrupt their pleasant night out. He  _ especially _ didn't want Vanya to have to deal with this; she was just finally beginning to relax again with the world. So, swallowing his urge to slam a knife on the table, he pushed down his anger and smiled slightly at his sister. 

“I'm fine, I just, ah… I need to go take care of something really fast. I think I left the car lights on.” Without another word, he stepped back from the table and made his way to the door, weaving between tables as the others called after him. The pain of going to public places was that he couldn't teleport everywhere; it tended to make their whole staying under the radar shtick a bit harder to keep up. 

Not like this was going to do them any favours, but still. 

Finally, he closed the restaurant for behind him and sighed, straightening his blazer. Well. Time to get this show on the road. A deep breath in, and he pulled himself through space, a soft crackle of blue light heralding his appearance atop the roof right above where the men were apparently hiding. He was lucky in that a small lamp on the outside of the building illuminated them; in the warm, yellow light, he could count seven men discussing what to do with each other, one of the clutching a slip of paper and reading it off to the other men.

A small part of him was honestly insulted they thought seven would be enough to take him. Ah, well. At least they would be quick to take care of.

Dangling his legs over the edge of the roof, he cleared his throat. “Can I help you fine gentlemen?” Immediately, the barrels of seven guns swung up towards him. “I'll take that as a yes.”

“Mister Five, I'm afraid we need you to come with us,” The man holding a small sheet of paper ordered, tone leaving no room for protest. Not that that would stop Five, of course; he, quite frankly, didn't see any of the men as intimidating. No offence to them, but he'd faced much worse.

“I'm afraid I can't do that. See, I was having quite a nice dinner with my family,” he replied conversationally, swinging his legs slightly and smiling down at the group. “And then you fellows came along, and, well, suddenly my dinner wasn't so nice. And I do plan on finishing my evening with them.” The rage he had tamped down for Vanya's sake bubbled up; fury pounded through him, hot and cold and clinical and downright gleeful, giddy to be back.

“If you think we're going to just come back tomorrow, you're wrong,” the man threatened, grip tightening on his gun. Five felt the smile on his face shift from pleasant to sinister, and his heart was satisfied by the way the men seemed to shift back, clutching their weaponry harder. No, he hadn’t lost his touch; a couple months without killing wasn’t enough to dull his blade. These men were going to be the first to find that out. Better for them to just leave for good, but he couldn't have that, now could he?

“Oh, don't you worry. I didn't plan on it.” The smile dropped from his face, and he disappeared in a flash right as muffled gunshots split the air. Reappearing on the ground, he wasted no time in yanking a gun from the surprised grip of one of the men, whacking him as hard as he could across the head with it before dropping it and moving again. He would prefer not to use firearms right now; he wanted to keep this quiet and discreet. Stepping from the shadows behind a second man, he kicked his legs out from under him, jumping into the aether again as the guns all swung towards him and effectively executed the felled assassin. Two down, five to go. 

With a crackle of blue, he called from stop the roof again, “Enough with the guns, hmm? My family's trying to enjoy dinner.” The bullets whizzing through the halo of energy around him was answer enough. Hmm. Guess he would have to silence them himself. He appeared before a third man who was fumbling for more ammo, knocking the gun aside with an easy wave of his arm. Before the men could react, he jabbed his fingers into the man's eyes, eliciting a muffled howl of pain from behind his mask, and knocked the man into his friend. He needed a tool; as much as he wanted to take care of the issue with his bare hands, he knew that it wouldn't be long before someone noticed the gunshots, however muffled they were. Thank god for advanced technology keeping them hidden thus far. Stepping back as the man's partners in crime terminated him with a yell of surprise, he fell into the void, materializing inside the kitchen of the restaurant, Luckily, the room was deserted, and he had no need to worry about being spotted. A quick look around yielded no results for the knife he wanted; the only thing vaguely weapon-like near him was a fork. He was sure he could find something better had he the time to search for it, but he knew it would only be a matter of time before the men burst into the restaurant itself, and, well, that would be a shitshow all on it's own. With a weary sigh at his misfortune in the utensils department, Five grabbed the silver fork and jumped back to the back alley of the restaurant, emerging directly behind the fourth man who was shoving his dead companion’s body away from him in disgust. Wasting no time, Five reached up and grabbed the man's collar, pulling him back roughly and jabbing the fork into his throat. An ugly gurgle came from the man as Five pulled the utensil out and jabbed it in again harder, making sure the man would bleed. With no small effort, he shoved the man forward, and heard a rather disgusting noise as the man fell forward, directly onto the fork sticking out from his throat. Dodging another gunshot, Five ducked down and grabbed the knife sticking out from the man's back pocket. Thank goodness someone had thought to being something other than a gun.

Not a moment too soon, he realized that he was about to have his insides rearranged on both his left and his right; he fell backwards into blue nothingness as twin gunshots rang out. The memory of a doughnut shop echoed in his mind, and he couldn't help but bark out a laugh as one of the men fell, the other staggering back with a curse as his shin began to leak blood. “You never learn, do you?” He called, skipping back and reappearing on the roof. Raising his arm, he grinned back down at the men scrambling to find the source of his voice.  _ “You can't kill me!” _ He laughed humourlessly as the giddying anger surged, heart beating fast. No, he wasn’t amused, but some part of him was reveling in the fact that he was back on his feet again, back to what he knew best. He didn’t enjoy the  _ killing _ , per se; it was the show of control, the claiming of power, the knowledge that no matter who came  _ he would win. _ He could disguise it behind being pleased to protect his family, sure, but that explanation just wasn’t quite enough to justify the grin curling back his lips into a near snarl, the way his heart sent thrills through his body when he watched the fallen man hack up blood onto the pavement before collapsing onto his face. 

Leaning forward, he let gravity take him off the roof, only to hop in a ring of blue energy and reappear behind the injured man, grabbing his head and yanking it back hard enough that he felt the vertebrae splinter. Finally, he turned to the last man, slipping before him in a blink and pressing him to the wall, knocking the gun out of his hands. Pressing the knife he had taken from one of the dead assassin's pockets to his throat, he let all pretenses of pleasantness drop. “Believe me when I say that I'm better than you. I've killed more than you could  _ dream.  _ I have outlived the world, and I  _ will _ outlive whatever pathetic attempts you make at stopping me.” Feverish hate, some mix of giddy rage and detached disgust, ran through him like a shiver of energy. Quick as a flash, he slashed the blade across the man's throat, teleporting away quickly enough that he was able to dodge the spray of blood. Standing above the group of bodies, he suddenly felt hyperaware of the adrenaline and rage that seemed to course through his body like icy fire, the blood in his veins petroleum. It was as if he had gained a fever, leaving him delirious with heat and hate and rage breaking through his mask of practiced apathy. Raising his hand, he gently wiped away a small drop of blood he could feel on his cheek. Barely aware of his own words, he murmured,  _ “I am a gazelle,”  _ before dropping his hand and straightening his blazer. The knife in his free hand steadily dripped blood on the pavement.  _ Drip. Drip. Drip. _

“...Holy  _ fuck. _ ” He whipped his head around, prepared to jump with a snarl on his face; instead of facing a stranger, or worse, more assassin's, he was greeted by the sight of his family, stunned and staring at the bodies on the ground. Ah, shit. He probably looked a mess; he was fairly sure he'd avoided blood getting on his clothes, but he could tell by the expressions on their faces that he definitely had the look of a man who had just, well, killed seven people. Oops.

Straightening up, he dropped the knife on one of the bodies, forcing the unpleasant expression from his face. “Sorry, I tried to keep them quiet. Didn't want to interrupt the dinner.”

“Wh-- Five, we could care less about dinner,” Allison exclaimed, heroically ignoring a muttered ‘speak for yourself’ from Klaus. “Are you okay??” 

“Of course I am,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “You really think these idiots would be enough to take me down?” He paused, an idea striking him. Spinning to face the men, he crouched by one of the bodies and began rifling through the pockets, ignoring a muttered “oh, gross” from Luther when he pulled out a bloody notepad and pen and stood. Quickly, he scrawled a small note on the front before setting it atop one of the bodies. He was about to turn back to his family when the body groaned, shifting slightly and eliciting a small yelp from one of the others. 

Quickly, he crouched over the body, one foot resting on the bullet wound through his torso. Apparently the wound from his friend hadn't been enough to take him out of the equation. “Don't try to play possum with me,” Five sneered, before grabbing the sides of the man's head and twisting hard. A loud crack sounded throughout the alleyway, and the others exclaimed in disgust and shock. “Oh, hush, you,” he snapped at them, finally straightening up and brushing his hands together to make sure he had picked up no blood. “Would you rather he go back alive?” 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Diego sputtered, holding up his hands. “Where did he come from? I thought we were done with the whole space assassin thing!” Looking down at the bodies again, Five crouched, hovering over the body for a moment before finding the insignia sewn into the man's jacket. 

“Just a clean-up crew. Last ditch attempt.” Straightening, he curled his lip. “They shouldn't have bothered.” The anger, previously boiling his blood, had dulled to a simmering rage, low and familiar. 

“Are you okay, Five?” He looked up at the sound of Vanya's voice, forcing the anger off of his face. 

“I'm fine, Vanya dear.  I've faced much worse than this.” 

“Where did you…” Luther cleared his throat, looking abnormally pale. “Did… you learn to do that with your employers?” Five shrugged, looking down at the corpse at his feet. Already, the practiced disinterest was setting in, washing away (or at least painting over) the anger that had seemed too massive for his tin body to hold. 

“Yeah. Can’t be a good assassin if you don’t know how to kill, you know.” Diego opened his mouth as if he wanted to ask a question, but Five had no patience for it. Stepping over the bodies, he faced his family, pushing fake cheer into his voice. 

“Alright, shall we go finish dinner?”


	2. Oops, I Did It Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit happens again. Klaus insists on being a good brother. Too bad that years of killing can unhinge a man slightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It isn't that easy to hold onto sanity when you're used to murdering for a living. I mean, look at Hazel and Cha Cha. Poor old kid's doin' his best.

Apparently, after finding their older/little brother standing over a group of dead bodies and watching him finish his executions, the others wanted to have a ‘talk.’ Apparently, they were so unsuccessful at confronting emotions and the like that their idea of how to get Five to talk was to slowly trickle into any room he was in and pretend they weren’t there to corral him into a family meeting. After about two days of this, he told Luther to his face that he’d rather bite off his own fingers than discuss this with them, and had taken to teleporting away whenever three or more of them entered the same room he was in. 

And to be frank, he was within his rights to do so. He didn’t want to talk about his time at the Commission, and they weren’t going to make him. The fact that he was probably the best assassin through all of time didn’t change the fact that he was allowed to set conversational boundaries. Even the horsemen needed to forget sometimes. (Not that he wanted to  _ forget, _ of course; simply that he wanted to maintain at least some façade of normality around his family. He thought they would appreciate it, really; they were all so naive when it came to murder.) 

Besides, he’d thought that was the last of them. They were a clean-up crew, after all; they were supposed to be the last ditch attempt at eliminating a threat. Now that the threat was over, he could relax and never have to think about his time spent at the Commission again. Some things were better left in the pits of the subconscious memory, left in the dark while new, better memories took their place in the light.

Apparently, some regulations had changed at the Commission since (or before) his departure. Apparently, the clean-up crew wasn’t really the last ditch attempt. Apparently, some absolute  _ cock _ at the Commission had seen fit to send another team of men to confront Five in the worst way possible.

The surprise of waking early in the morning to the sound of clattering in the living room and a muffled curse was more than enough to make Five’s blood pressure spike. At first he thought it was Klaus, fucking with something he already knew he shouldn’t be fucking with. Something he could pop down and fix with a quick word and possibly a quick pinch. However, when he stood and jumped into the living room in the blink of an eye, he didn’t find Klaus. Why would he? That would just make life easy. No, he was greeted by more than twenty guns swinging around to point at him, the eyes watching him cold and uncaring beneath their masks. 

Needless to say, the shock and outrage at finding yet another group of killers sent by his dear former employers was enough to make his mind go blank with fury. Before he could even think, he was reacting.

How dare they? How dare they come to his home and try to end what he had fought for? How could they even think they were capable? 

Bodies hit the ground as gunfire rang through the air, blood splashing onto his pyjamas.

They hadn’t learned. They never learned. He was never going to let them win. He would never let them leave alive. This was his hard-won life; this was what he had fought for and worked for for years and years and years. How  _ dare _ they presume they had any power? 

He looked into the eyes of a man before stabbing through them into his skull. He felt no remorse.

He would kill them all. He would let no man live. This was his life now; they had no right to come here and try to take it away from him. As if they could do anything compared to him. As if they had any power. 

Something scraped his arm, burned against his thigh. He felt no pain. The next man seemed to be screaming something before Five snapped his neck.

How dare they try to take this away from them. How dare they presume he would hesitate to kill them all. He had started wars; he had killed the innocent. He was the trigger behind Clayton and Romero; he was the whisper in the ear of Oppenheimer. These men were nothing.  _ Nothing.  _ He was an apocalypse in and of himself, and these men were dead the moment they thought they had a chance.

Someone was yelling his name. Another masked man went down before him, his own knife slicing cleanly through his throat. The blood that splattered onto Five’s bared teeth tasted like metal. 

“Five!  _ Goddammit, FIVE!” _ He whirled around, knife raised, ready to dispatch another assailant. Instead of another masked man, though, Diego stood there, hands before him placatingly, the rest of them behind him in a huddle. Luther stood before the others, arms out protectively. Protecting them from what?

Diego stepped forward, and Five flinched back, knife still poised. His brain felt fuzzy, unbalanced, untethered by his fury. Diego looked almost... frightened. Were there any of the men left? He glanced around; only piles of bodies on the floor remained. 

“Five, put down the knife.” What? Diego stepped forward again, and Five looked back at the blood-soaked knife, steadily dripping in his red hand. 

Oh.

_ Oh. _

He suddenly realized why Diego looked like a man approaching a wounded beast, why Luther was shielding the others. He had been protecting them, though, hadn’t he? Why were they… He had been doing his job. He was  _ protecting _ them. 

“You did your job, Five. You did good. We're safe. You can put down the knife now.” Had that been aloud? No matter. The job was done.

He straightened and dropped the knife, the dripping weapon landing silently on the body of the man beside him.

As if a dam had been broken, the world rushed back to him, no longer held at bay by the confused haze of fury. He could feel his breath in uneven pants, could feel hot blood soaking into his clothes, could taste blood and gunpowder. The others seemed to relax as soon as the knife was out of his possession, and Diego rushed forward to Five. His mind was still in a haze, no longer furious but confused. How had that happened so fast? He had blinked, and his hands were around a man’s neck; a heartbeat passed, and the light behind another man’s eyes disappeared. How was he already done? There had been so many of them.

“You’re done, Five, it’s alright.” Diego’s hands were on his shoulders. Jerkily, Five shrugged them off, shaking his head. His mind was slowly rebooting, slowly coming back from wherever it had gone in that fog of passion and rage. He was bleeding. He needed to fix that first. Loss of blood meant loss of strength. “Wait, Five--”

In a blink, he was in the medical room, lurching unevenly as he landed on cool, smooth tile. His hands were steady as he automatically rummaged through the drawers for a curved needle and thread, though his mind still felt shaky. He blamed it on having to wake up straight to murder; he knew it was most likely the shock and fury that had caused him to essentially black out through the bloodshed. As soon as the needle and thread were in his bloody hands, he jumped back upstairs, setting himself on the couch. Luther had barely even finished his string of expletives by the time Five returned. As soon as he was sitting down, he set himself to work threading the needle, thankful his mind seemed to be stabilizing back to its usual state of logistics and indifference. Much to his irritation, though, the others apparently didn’t want to leave him alone. 

“Five, what-- what the  _ fuck _ was that?” Luther demanded, finally stepping away from the others to come near him. 

“That was a change in plans. I took care of it. Go back to sleep.” He tied off the knot and set it aside, pushing up the sleeve of his shirt. He would have to ask Grace to take out the bloodstains later, though this one might be irreparable. Hmm. 

“I--  _ what?!” _

“Five, not just the--” he looked up to see Allison stepping forward, the others close behind as she gestured at the bodies on the floor. “How-- I mean--”

Finished prodding the sizable gash in his arm from a stray bullet, he picked up the needle and snapped, “If you’re going to ask questions, out with it, yeah?” before plunging the needle through his skin. Diego cringed noticeably back at the action, and Five couldn’t help but to sneer slightly. He was going to have to get used to stitches if these assholes kept coming.

“ _ Will  _ they keep coming?” Klaus asked, pushing forward to hover over him anxiously. “I mean-- these guys seem pissed.” Oh. Right. Five shrugged, looping the needle around for a second stitch. 

“Ask them, I don’t care. If more come, I’ll take care of them.” He paused to nod at the bodies. “They’ll disappear in a moment, though. The Commission keeps its dead.”

“Ok, so-- hold on.” Vanya massaged her temples, looking distinctively unsettled by the gore around her. Still, though, she delicately picked her way through the room to stand behind the couch, watching him stitch up his arm. “Can you just-- clarify what just happened? And that this isn’t just a shitty nightmare or something?” 

“I can assure you it isn’t a nightmare, Vanya dear,” he muttered. “Commission still wants--or wanted--my blood. I took care of the issue.”

“Took care of-- Jesus, Five, you just murdered like twenty people!  _ In our living room!”  _

“And so what?!” he exclaimed, jumping to his feet before he even fully registered the anger once again pulsing through his veins. “I kept you  _ safe. _ What else do you want?”

“An explanation would be nice!” Luther growled, jabbing a finger towards him. Scoffing, Five pulled a knot in the string on his arm and snapped the excess string off with a yank he would never admit smarted. Pointing the needle up at Luther, he put as much venom into his voice as he could.

“Listen here, Number One. I know you never believed me when I told you about the Commission until I came back from there with the briefcase. I know  _ none _ of you ever believed me about what I did there. None of you! You may have believed it was real when those assholes showed up at the bowling alley, but you  _ never _ believed I had anything to do with them.” Huffing, he looked around at the others. None of them would meet his eyes, though he could see horror on their faces. “Congratulations. Your brother’s a killer. Now go back to bed.” Without another word, he pulled space around him, rematerializing in his room. 

Why did they have to make such a big deal out of this? For fucks sake, he didn’t  _ ask _ to become an assassin. He didn’t ask for his former employers to target his home, his family. He was just trying to keep the assholes safe. 

All he had really accomplished tonight was earning their fear. Lovely. With a huff, he rolled up his pant leg and began to stitch up the gouge in his thigh.

He had just finished tying off that set of stitches when his door slowly opened.

“Five?” Of course it was Klaus. He never really knew when to leave well enough alone. Not even bothering to look up as he wiped the trickles of blood off of his leg, he grumbled, “What the hell do you want?” Klaus inched in, closing the door behind him. After a few moments, Klaus cleared his throat. 

“I, uh… wanted to talk.”

“Evidently, otherwise I don't know why you would have come in here.” With a sigh, Klaus walked to his desk, sitting down in the chair that was ever so slightly too small for his lanky frame. 

“What… okay. I don’t actually know where to start with this.”

“Then leave,” Five snapped, finally looking up. Klaus’s face was paler than usual, though compared to the others downstairs he looked a hell of a lot more composed. Right. He’d seen that level of bloodshed before. 

“Goddammit, Five, can you stop being an asshole for a second? Sorry I’m not thinking completely straight after watching you fucking murder a couple dozen armed men while spouting off like a lunatic, yeah?” Klaus retorted, running a hand through his sleep-tousled hair. 

“The fuck do you mean, spouting off like a lunatic?”

Klaus raised his eyebrows at him. “I mean, you were sayin’ shit about starting wars, about Oppenheimer and things like that. You know, kind of the stuff I'd hear in rehab.” Brow furrowing, Five looked away. 

“I don’t remember saying any of that.” Certainly, fury-fervent thoughts had been pinwheeling through his mind, but he didn’t recall saying any of them aloud.

“Well, you definitely were, unless I’m psychic now, too. Ugh, that’s be gross, I don’t wanna know what Luther thinks about.” Five looked up just in time to see Klaus’s head jerk forward as if he’d been whacked upside the head, and a hissed “Ow!” confirmed that Ben was indeed there. Clearing his throat, Klaus shifted in his chair, leaning over the back to get closer to Five. “Seriously, though, Five. I’ve seen men lose it during those mad minutes. And, uh… that  _ definitely  _ was a mad minute. I don’t… I know that we were skeptical at first when you told us about the Commission, okay?” Five opened his mouth to interject, but Klaus raised his hand. “Hey, I’m not done. This is an apology, ‘kay, old-timer?” What? “We didn’t believe you, and I’m sorry for that. I’m  _ especially _ sorry for that, because… wel, I know what it’s like not to be believed, okay? But…” Klaus sighed. “You gotta be honest with us, dude. Please. Just… What actually happened at the Commission? You weren’t a killer like that when you left, and frankly, well, I’m kinda concerned you’re gonna go a bit… well. Looney-tunes on us, y’know?” Five wanted to reply indignantly at that, but thought better of it, closing his mouth. Maybe this would be an actual… well, good time to share the truth. Not that he wanted to, but if this kept up, he needed to know the others trusted him enough to stay out of danger.

He took his time thinking out his words before deciding to make it as blunt as possible. “They recruited me thirty years after I ended up in the apocalypse. A hired gun. I was meant to… ‘correct’ things that could alter the timeline. People. Events. When I managed to make it back to you guys, uh… I was actually about to shoot JFK. Guess they sent someone else to do the job after I broke my contract.” He huffed out an unamused laugh, bitter in the air and on his tongue. “I was the best of the best. But now that I’m gone, and I stopped the apocalypse from happening, well… The Commission isn’t happy. With any luck, though, that was the last team they’ll send.” Klaus stared at him, head cocked as if listening to someone. Probably Ben, funneling his questions to Klaus. Finally, Klaus slowly asked, “So… you’re used to doing this?” 

“Did it for fifteen years… I think. Time gets hard when you’re skipping all over the place.” A heavy sigh from Klaus; understandable, seeing as he had just admitted to being a mass murderer for a good chunk of his shitty life. 

“Did you at least… I don’t know, spare the innocent, or…?” He shot Klaus a bleak look, eyebrows half raised.

“Klaus, even the innocent die in war. This was my war against the apocalypse. As long as they died, I could have enough time to figure out how to get back here, how to stop the world from ending.  _ You  _ know that better than most.” Harsh, but true. After a moment of silence, he leaned back, idly pressing the tip of his needle to his finger. “I’m glad you believe me, at least. And I know that, well, my mental state probably isn’t the best after… everything. But you don’t have to worry about me going crazy on you.” Alright, that was enough sharing for today. “We done here?”

“I…” Klaus cleared his throat. “Yeah.”

“Good.” Five nodded towards the door. “Now get out and go to bed. I need to change out of this bloody shit.” The drying blood on his skin was uncomfortable, and he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep at all with it covering him.

“Yeah, uh, maybe wash your face off there too, man. You look kind of insane.” Rolling his eyes, he pointed at the door, waiting until Klaus had left and closed the door behind him to finally exhale. 

Fucking nosy family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'm going to make a third chapter for this, perhaps at least partially from someone else's point of view. Hope you enjoyed!  
> Find me on tumblr @officialfivehargreeves!

**Author's Note:**

> Also, I just realized I've been calling them the Temps Commission all this time because on TV it's the Commission and int he comics its the Temps Aeternalis... whoops. And speaking of the comics, yes, the "I am a gazelle" s absolutely a reference to That Page.
> 
> Come check me out on tumblr @officialfivehargreeves! Hope you enjoyed this.


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